


I forget to pray for the angels

by JustSemiotics



Series: The Leonard Cohen Variations [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Funerals, Godfather Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9201047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSemiotics/pseuds/JustSemiotics
Summary: Sherlock and Rosie at Mary's funeralCompanion piece to "You chose your journey long ago"





	

The drool on his coat smears onto his shirt as he pushes the collar up high, trying to hide the tuft of blond curls that still peaks out. He suppresses the twitch in his fingers, as hard as it is these days and smoothes the loose strands, whispering to her. 

„Don’t fret, Watson. This will be over very soon.“ 

Ignoring the flashlights has become a habit by now and he wonders for a second whether he should have worn the deerstalker. Had Mary ever shown any like or dislike for it? He doesn’t really remember and Rosie rather likes to play with his curls, tugging at them, testing out her grabbing skills. She has quite a precise eye for any curl going astray but what would you expect from the daughter of an assassin and a soldier?

„Yes, Watson, it is cold. No, sticking your hands in your mouth won’t warm them.“ 

He wrestles with her little gloves (lilac, had he chosen them?) and hates that funerals have to be outside, that they can’t hide behind the walls of the church any longer. And, oh, what a thought that is. The service was blessedly short, not that he had heard a word of it. Rosie tucked into his side, staring onto the screen of his mobile, he hoped he gave the impression of complete indifference. He had to. After all, she was not his wife. 

Molly did not pull the phone away from him. Maybe she had glanced what he was reading, maybe not, the light of the messenger app contrasting with the glow of the candles. He could not care less. 

_Haven’t solved it yet? Simple enough, even when one is preparing puree. SH_

_Don’t do carrots. She dislikes them. SH_

_Please tell me there aren’t any cameras in our kitchen?_

_And it’s a case of falling-in-your-own-workbench. A classic. But no mystery here._

_Correct, but slow. SH_

_I’ll show you slow, berk._

_What should I do instead of carrots then, O Consulting Expert on Baby Food?_

_... you did not answer that question about the cameras._

He understood. He had always understood what she meant. There was no need to tell him, her last breaths should have been all saved for John. He always knew. 

„Come on, Watson. Now is the time to drop something. You’ve practiced that long enough. No, don’t gnaw on the stem.“ 

He thinks about gravity and falling and just taking that final step over the soil. Tripping would be easy, but the hole is laughably small, not even enough to twist an ankle. There is no way they can force him to throw dirt. He won’t. Not on her. He watches the rose finally falling from little fingers.

„Well done, Watson.“ 

He makes a mental note on checking up whether she can already understand praise or rather smiles at the infliction in his voice, while he swoops her up and beneath the layers of his coat again. They need to go soon, find something warm to drink and ask Molly whether she has brought one of the woollen hats Mrs. Hudson seems to make in the bulk. 

But for now, he can stand here a bit longer, feeling the curls tickling the corner of his eyes. He mouths silently, an absurd fear of Rosie hearing the finality of it, enunciating every syllable:

„So long, Mary.“

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening for this fic: Leonard Cohen "So long, Marianne" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZI6EdnvH-8)
> 
> "Now so long, Marianne, it's time that we began  
> To laugh and cry and cry and laugh about it all again.
> 
> Well you know that I love to live with you,  
> But you make me forget so very much.  
> I forget to pray for the angels  
> And then the angels forget to pray for us."
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta and occasional muse again!


End file.
